


Silent Night

by hazeltea (madlovescience)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madlovescience/pseuds/hazeltea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my gift for http://teen-hamish-watson-holmes.tumblr.com for the 2012 Sherlock Secret Santa. Christmas eve fluff <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Night

 “You’ll need to get a tree now, for the little one.” Mrs. Hudson had stated, matter-of-factly, gesturing to the two dusty cardboard boxes printed with wood grain which she’d carried from storage and set in the middle of the sitting room floor. “I only do the little tree anymore, and I would get to enjoy yours. They’ll go to him in the end, after all; and he should have good memories to go with them.”

 John had removed the lids to find the worn boxes brimming with jewel-like glass ornaments, some accented with gold paint or glitter stripes, faintly worn. They were cool and heavy in his hand, and had the unmistakeable quality of something made at least fifty years ago, if not longer. He found himself at a loss for words.

  The ornaments now hung on a handsome tree, illuminating the room by hundreds of fairy lights.  There was a snug fire, adding to the comfortable atmosphere and, best of all; the melodious strains of Sherlock’s violin as he played a medely of Christmas songs at John’s request.  John watched his husband’s face as he played, eyes almost closed, his expression changing with the flowing notes.  This was not Sherlock  playing for thinking, playing for anger, playing for frustration. This was playing for pleasure, and to please John and their son. It was beautiful.

 John’s attention slipped toward the small bundle in his lap as Hamish shifted and yawned, basking in the warmth of John’s arms and the fireplace, and the melody provided by his papa. John’s fingers gently stroked the tiny hand loosely gripping the edge of the blanket.  Hamish’s long, dark eyelashes cast a shadow on his pale face, and John felt a sudden surge of love throughout the core of his body. _What sort of man will you be, Sweetheart?_ He wondered. _You’ll be amazing. Wonderful. There’s not a chance otherwise, with your genes. Or, if you’re like me, maybe you can help people. Maybe you’ll be the best of both of us and cure a disease or two… just be a bit less like Harry, okay? Even if she made you happen, she’s a bad influence, had me almost arrested when I was fifteen and we… well, you don’t have to know about what we did. Heh. And be less smug than your uncle, too, as much as he dotes on you…_

 Sherlock’s playing slowed. Ah, yes, _Silent Night_.  That’s how it should be… except, no. Silence was an awful thing, John realized. Silence was the lack of a violin’s song in a cold flat. Silence was endless gray months alone. Silence was staring blankly at a wall that first Christmas without him, not realizing that he had tuned out Harry’s party and couldn’t hear her calling him from a foot away, until she was shaking him fearfully.  Let there be noise. Let there be improptu violin concerts at all hours. Let him be woken by a hungry baby at three AM.  Let there be police sirens, and laughter, and the crackling of the fire at his feet. Let there be _life_.

 John’s eyes were half closed, and he hadn’t realized that Sherlock had finished playing until he’d sat beside John, leaning a head on his shoulder.  John turned his head to kiss the dark curls, scented by scandalously expensive shampoo. “Happy Christmas.”  He mumbled, noting the clock.

 “mmm. Merry Christmas.”  Sherlock replied, loosely draping a hand over Hamish. “He’s too young to deduce what we’ve bought him.”

 “I hate it when you do that. Don’t teach him.” John sighed.

 “Nonsense. You said it was amazing. Deduce what I’ve gotten you, there. The gold striped one with the white bow.”

 “I’ll find out in the morning. And I’ve taken extra precautions with that big red one, I’m warning you.”

 “It’s a lovely antique microscope, John.” Sherlock whispered.

 “Bastard.” John hissed, then giggled. “Keep your paws away from the others for at least six more hours.”

 Sherlock nodded, solemnly. “As it is Christmas, agreed. Now, the sooner we go to bed, the sooner it is Christmas morning, is that not the flawed logic we will teach him?” he asked, fondly.

 John grinned. “Come on then, bed.” He stood carefuly, to not disturb Hamish, and gazed at the tree for a moment more before reaching for the power switch.

 Tomorrow would be a beautiful day.  

 


End file.
